Nothing To Lose
by NocturnalLament
Summary: After having his heart brutally broken by Stan, Kyle's life takes an unexpected turn when his parents enrol him in an all-male boarding school deep in the British countryside. Thrown into this new environment he will make many enemies and allies, and will learn that there's more to his callous roommate than first meets the eye. school AU, Kyman. Sexual content & language. R&R
1. A Storm on the Horizon

The rain falls in drenching sheets, the torrent thrumming harshly against the sodden country roads. The crystalline droplets trace a melancholy trail across the slightly tinted glass, seemingly a reflection of the inner turmoil of Kyle Broflovski.

It had been half an hour since they had driven into the vast green expanse of the countryside, the picturesque rolling hills had looked like the screensaver of an old windows PC until the heavens had opened; yet now as his father's once-pristine BMW wades through mud and filth he finds himself yearning for the grey cement streets and towering structures of steel and glass he had grown accustomed to.

The car shudders and lurches over the treacherously flooding dirt roads, causing his mother to yelp.

"This place is even further away than it sounded…" States Ike, his nervous voice addressing no-one in particular as he gazes intently out the window, as if he expected some form of escape to majestically materialize in front of him. He fiddles absentmindedly at the cuffs of his dress shirt.

"You're damn right, were in the middle of bloody nowhere." The redhead mutters, unafraid to voice his discontent. Unlike his younger adopted brother, he had no qualms about angering his parents. Not after this.

Kyle feels his mother's gaze harden, no longer needing to see his mother's face to notice her frustration. She'd shout at him, most likely, for the usage of expletives but such an action would be futile now. When looked at in this light, maybe there is some benefit to this whole situation. At least his overbearing mother couldn't pester him after she discarded him in this mud-infused hellhole.

He pulls his iPod from his pocket, tuning out the thrashing of the rain and the uneasy silence of the car with songs he used to love – tunes that once filled him with joy that make him feel almost numb now, filled with the same empty feeling that he always does when he is reminded of Stan.

It had been almost a year since they'd met, that bittersweet moment forever stained on the parchment of his memory in indelible ink. It had been the beginning of March, and the air had become slightly crisper as the heavy dregs of moisture form the February storms had faded, leaving the new spring air feeling strangely hopeful. The raven-haired boy had entered his life as quickly as he had left it. His unannounced arrival had taken the whole school by surprise, the relatively small-scale private establishment rarely had new students and never any that had arrived so unexpectedly. He had stood before the class - tie slightly lopsided and his glossy hair attractively tousled – and spoke in a slightly hoarse voice. "Marsh," he had declared, leaning so that his strong figure rested on the bookcase behind him. He was charming in an effortless, laid back way – a long-awaited break from the narcissistic, try-hards that seemed to be in abundance in this dead-end excuse of a school. It's something that he would never openly admit, but Kyle was immediately compelled by the suave, seemingly disinterested stranger that towered before him.

It was a week before he had spoken to Kyle, and by that time his polite intrigue had grown into some odd combination of fascination and attraction, his boredom at the simplistic school work long forgotten since his blossoming preoccupation with the mysterious younger man. Stan had approached Kyle one afternoon, after being advised by his fellow pupils to partner with him for their science project (After his arrival at the schools some years ago, it had become a one-sided joke to have Kyle as a partner on a joint project, as they were well aware that he valued his grades enough to do all the work once they had refused to co-operate).

"Wow, you're really bloody tall!" Kyle had blurted out in the most unsophisticated manner he deemed possible, and promptly threw his hands to his lips as if the action could undo his unceremonious greeting. Stan was not offended at this outburst, quite to the contrary – he had laughed until he was gasping for air, chuckling involuntarily at the mercy of his amusement.

From that first laugh a strange bond had formed, strong yet pliable. What was at first a meagre friendship had silently and relentlessly morphed into something foreign and thrilling, an unfathomable attraction.

The same connection that – in his affluence and eagerness – left him broken once severed.

…

Ike's hesitant fingers stir Kyle from his haze, nervously anticipating a dose of the hostility that emanates from the elder boy. In response. He runs his fingers roughly through his unkempt, flame-red curls and dislodges his earpiece reluctantly, as if his uncertainty could somehow deter the imminent situation.

"Were almost there," mutters Ike, who is aware at how obvious this remark is yet still feels compelled to break the silence. "You should probably put your tie back on, dude."

Surely enough, as he battles a futile war with the silk at his neck and glares at the thinning trees, a large sign emerges from the foliage. The metallic letters gleam in the meagre trails of sunlight that fight through the dense clouds overhead, the unnecessarily opulent school crest boasts the same dreary grey of the awful uniform.

The ornate gates are coated in worn golden paint, peeling and beginning to rust, but it doesn't have the prison-like feel I had envisioned – no observation towers or heavy metal chains. Almost as if the students stay here willingly.

"Are you sure this is the front gate? I was expecting a little more 'Arbeit Macht Frei', perhaps some armed fascists to gun down escapees…"

"KYLE!" Sheila bellows, "Do NOT belittle our people!"

"I was just saying-"

"Please," interjects his father, a rare but welcome interruption. "I know this change is hard for you but we've spent a lot of money so you can come here, Kyle. We care about you and your future. After everything that happened recently we feel this is the best option for you. For the BOTH of you."

Kyle grumbles in defeat, drawing in his knees so that his overly polished shoes rest precariously on the edge of the leather seat. As always, their father was the single voice of reason. Gerald had been understanding, even offering Kyle support through the last two months.

His mother, however, was a different story. Ever since she realized Kyle would never marry a nice Jewish woman and raise a traditional family she had become increasingly distant and argumentative. During the recent affairs she was distressed, although this was less compassion for Kyle's situation and emotions but rather disgust at the concept of him harbouring romantic feelings toward another man. Kyle likes to believe this change of situation was entirely his father's idea, and is slightly reassured by the claims that this decision was made in his best interests. Despite what he feels compelled to believe, he cannot shake the feeling that his mother was so accepting of the plan because he would ultimately have to leave the household. What seems hardest to comprehend, however, is why his parents would feel the need to send him to an _all-male_ boarding school. Kyle is still unsure whether this is an awful idea, and doesn't quite wish to find out by experience.

What he thinks is the end might just be the new beginning he so desperately needs, however...

Even if this salvation comes in an unexpected form.

**AN: thank you so much for reading! I hope to update every week at least, but this is my first multi-chapter fic so I'm not sure how realistic that goal is. I have a general Idea of the storyline but I'm open to suggestions, so if there's a pairing or interaction you'd like to see I'd love to add it in.**

**Please give feedback, Your support inspires me, and every review I get literally makes my day (yes, I am indeed that sad) so please share your thoughts!**

**If there is a Kyman fic you'd like to see written please PM me! I love to hear peoples ideas and if I have the time I'll write one for you. **

**- NocturnalLament**


	2. The Two Boys

The gravel of the driveway crackles under the pressure of the mud-drenched tyres, a loud crunch that causes intrigued faces to appear at the upper windows of the grand reception building. Eager to witness the transfer student first-hand, the children gather at the glass as if the Batmobile had materialized onto the pristine lawns, clambering to be the first to observe the entrance of another innocent victim.

A woman opens the oversized oak doors, wearing a painfully fake smile of welcoming. She gestures towards the building, both as a greeting and a command.

As I grasp our cases from the boot of the car, I become acutely aware that Ike is staring at her – the hem of her skirt, the curve of her torso. This fails to disgust me like it would have before, now I just feel a deep-seated pang of jealousy. Why can't I find her attractive the way he can? Everything could be so simple.

The thought is blown out of the water as I drag my bags hesitantly up the stairs, lumbering into the ornate reception room. Leaning against a marble pillar, my weary eyes come to rest upon the receptionist – the masculine angle of his jaw, his sharp nose and the trembling biceps that stretch the dark material of his suit.

_Fucking hell! _I have to pull myself together, I can't keep-

"Are you the Broflovskis?" he enquires, tearing his eyes from the computer. "Welcome! Please take a seat over there for a moment, I'll be with you in a minute or two."

We reluctantly sit, the anticipation swirling in our respective guts. Ike seems to be relatively composed, but once I see my mother conversing conspicuously with the woman at the door my stomach falls to the floor, my nerves ignited.

They spoke for several minutes more, the implications of the cautiously hushed tone of their voices reddening my cheeks with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. Mother glances at me, her eyes slightly narrowed as she murmurs to the other woman who thankfully doesn't look too confused or disgusted... I think. She's not even trying to hide the fact she's talking about me. My mother has this way of making it seem as if my sexuality is some kind of disease – something shameful and foul, something that should be rejected and overcome. Something to warn people about.

The man from behind the desk saunters over toward the waiting area, procuring some documents from a faded and worn folder and handing us each a set of papers: several sheets to sign, timetables, information on the school and maps of the impressive expanse of land it is situated upon – the standard welcome pack. I flick through the maps to see that two large buildings had been highlighted; I question this for a moment before the man seems to sense my unspoken inquiry. He gestures toward a grand structure on the edge of the grounds, circled in translucent green ink.

"This building here is Sylvester house, and will be your place of residence for the following year," he states, tapping the building with an outstretched finger. "Your roommate is aware of your arrival, and we have arranged bedding and some basic supplies to be delivered before curfew tonight." He glances to Ike, who seems engrossed in the monochrome map spread before us.

"Ike will be staying in the Casterbridge dorms on the other side of campus. We do not usually allow visitation to other residential buildings during designated learning times or after half past eight in the evening, but I've highlighted both buildings on the maps so you can visit each other during your free time." He reaches into the pocket of his suit, producing two keys and handing them to their respective owners. Ike seems excited at the prospect of dormitory living, eagerly taking his keys and looking at them fondly. I hesitantly extend my hands, clasping onto the cool metal of the jagged surface. _'K. Brovlofski, , Room 84'_ reads the inscription, and I take a moment to memorize the number before hastily shoving it into the inside pocket of my blazer.

"We can go through more details later, but you have been given more information about the academy rules and expectations. We've arranged for two of your classmates to give you a quick run-down of the school, so feel free to ask them any questions you like." He turns to the doorway and beckons in two students that seemingly materialized beneath the oak frame. "Kenny and Craig are both in your dorm and form class, Kyle, so they've volunteered to help you gets settled. If you need anything don't hesitate to ask them for assistance."

The two figures amble over, and I stand warily in greeting. The taller of the two looks rather tired, his angular features seemingly carved into his smooth marble face. There is a slight light of curiosity in his shimmering cobalt eyes, but he is either too indifferent or too smart to express his intrigue. He is tall and has a little muscle tone, hidden mostly by his height. It was relieving to see him dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a navy shirt, his blue hat was perched at a slight angle on his short midnight locks, the yellow bobble perched on his head shifting slightly as he moves. The smaller boy - who looks about my age – smiles slightly, his chapped lips partially obscured by an orange scarf that is wrapped tightly around his neck. He drags nicotine-stained fingers through his attractively tousled blonde hair, shifting slightly under his worn orange parka that could easily be two sizes too big for him. The zip is parted, revealing a dark shirt of an obscure band with a rather suggestive album cover. The adults glare menacingly at the young man, raising their brows at the scantily clad brunette on his clothing. He smiles innocently, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes – I think I like him already.


	3. A Doorway and a Sinking Feeling

I wave apathetically at Ike as the odd pair escort me from the reception building, earning an encouraging smile which raises my spirits slightly. We sprint through the pummelling rain, taking shelter in a nearby building. At first it appears to be an eloquent chapel, with highly arched roofs, intricately carved pillars and shimmering expanses of stained glass; only once the heavy wooden door swings to a shut behind me do I recognise the familiar musty scent and the vast rows of densely packed bookshelves. The grand building has a wonderful atmosphere of knowledge, the deliberate silence subtly lingering in the dusty air. I have to admit, the place looks rather inviting.

"This is the main library-thing," drones the taller boy (Craig, I think it was). "It's got a shit-ton of books if that's what floats your boat, I guess."

Kenny smirks, shifting his golden bangs. "Seriously dude, no-one ever really studies here. I swear half the guys that come here just want to ogle the hot librarians, and the other half are either screwing around with their friends or buying playboys from upperclassmen."

My eyebrow subconsciously creeps up my forehead, as I cast an incredulous look toward the two. Kenny grins and his counterpart rolls his eyes.

"What he means is that he trades playboy magazines to the younger kids that don't know any better" Craig mutters, picking at some blue fluff that had anchored itself to his sleeve. Kenny looks peevishly at the boy, muttering something about disrespecting 'fine art'.

We wonder around for a while more, it's not much of a tour but I have a general idea of the grounds now and know which teachers to avoid, who to suck up to and which teachers have a 'sweet ass' according to the lewdly-minded blonde (not that I bothered to pay too much attention to that part, naturally). We end up trudging along a beaten path, following signs directing us to the dormitories. The fact that Ike's housing is on the other side of the grounds is slightly unnerving, he may not be related to me by blood but he is my brother in every other sense of the word. I need his presence to help ground me in reality.

The path deviates, and Craig gestures toward a wooden sign sticking from the saturated ground. He pulls at his hat, covering his head more thoroughly in a futile attempt to combat the quickly lowering temperature.

"Here we are," he speaks in casual monotone, "Sylvester house."

"It's getting quite dark already, we should go in and get settled before the dorm master comes and kicks our asses." Kenny looks at me pointedly, his mischievous smirk suddenly reappearing. "Seriously though, he's a right douche. Trust me; don't get on his bad side. He locks the gates at ten and if you're late back then you're fucked, dude. This kid who used to be in these dorms last year was late back and had to sleep outside on the path all night, Scrooge wouldn't let him in."

"Scrooge?"

"It's what we call him! Y'know, like the dude from that Charles Dickens' film?"

"Charles Dickens wrote the book, retard. Jesus Christ." Craig interjects, blatantly flipping Kenny off.

"Same thing." Kenny waves dismissively. "Call him Mr Lewis to his face though. He teaches graphics sometimes, so you don't need to worry too much about him unless you're in his class."

The path ends at a large faded metal gate, left ajar to allow free passage to the dormitory. The building is grand; however it has a charm that many of the newer buildings lack. Ivy climbs along the façade - reminiscent of rural cottages - framing sizeable windows and bringing character to the structure. Craig gestures to the entrance, meandering up to the door with me and Kenny in his wake.

"We'll show you around I guess, but you'll get used to everything pretty soon. Sylvester house only has guys around our age, so it's not exactly heaving with people. You'll get to know people soon enough." Kenny begins to reassure me, the glint of nervousness evident in my weary eyes. "What room are you in? Scrooge says we're on the same floor, so we'll be just across the hall if you ever need us. Did you get a key?"

"Oh! Yeah, hang on a sec." I begin to dig in my pockets, wrapping my hand around the cool metal and retrieving it. A quick glance at the engravement refreshes my memory, and I look to my escorts' expectant faces, hoping for direction. "Room 84. Where is that?"

The pair exchange a weary glance, murmuring quietly in concerned tones before gazing back at me for a moment.

"Is that what the key says?" Kenny inquires, and I show him my key to make my point. "You'll be on the third floor then, opposite our room."

I stare at the two incredulously, awaiting an explanation for their previous concern. They disregard my questioning stares and retreat into the foyer, with me in their wake, and cross through a pale blue door into some kind of communal lounge. There are pool tables and televisions in the far corner, surrounded by chattering males. They all seem to be about my age, and they fill the room with a youthful, laid-back energy. There are people huddled around televisions, pawing at controllers and watching their games excitedly. Most are in groups, enthused by their individual conversations or busy studying huddled around the large oak table in the centre of the room, noses buried deep in their textbooks.

"Welcome to the lounge." Craig states, arms spread outward, "This is where most of our shit goes down, and is the hub of our dorm community. Most people spend their time here, but you can chill in your room if you'd like. Despite our monthly petitions we don't have games in our rooms, so you can usually find everyone here outside of school hours. Get used to it quickly, because you're probably going to spend the majority of your year stuck in here."

Kenny smirks, as if there is some inside joke that I have missed. I shoot him a questioning look and he shrugs innocently, but I maintain my gaze until he rolls his eyes and pulls me aside.

"Look, I feel obliged to tell you that your roommate is a bit of a douche. Don't take him seriously because he's mostly full of shit, but he's not always that easy to get along with." Kenny voice seems legitimately concerned, which is reassuring despite his warning words. "He's OK when you know him, but keep your guard up while he gets used to you."

"I'll be fine" I wave my hand dismissively, hoping to believe in my own words. "He's not going to be the first asshole I've had to deal with."

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, he nods and leads me upstairs. The walls of the stairwell are decorated with incredible paintings, beautiful scenes and landscapes, and it's only once I see an image of the dorm building do I realize that these had been painted by the students.

God forbid everyone is this talented here, I'll stick out like a sore thumb… not that that's unusual, considering the bright hue of my hair.

"The paintings are pretty cool huh?" Kenny states, vocalising my thoughts. "One of Craig's is up here; it's the one of the lake. He's an incredible artist."

Craig just shrugs modestly at that, rolling his eyes at the boy's praises. His painting is truly wonderful, though. The sunset lights shimmering realistically across halcyon waters, a building upon the stunning horizon, the afternoon light filtering through immaculate trees.

"Well I do have lots of practice I guess, but it's not as if it's really that amazing. There are plenty of better artists in the elective." Craig murmurs nonchalantly, unconcerned with the compliment.

We reach the third floor, and I begin to feel an awful anticipation rising in my gut. Surely my roommate couldn't be that bad, right? Kenny had felt obliged to warm me, so there must be a cause for his concern. I'll be fine, I have to be. I've never been the type to let difficult people get to me, and my stubborn nature wouldn't abandon me now.

The atmosphere becomes denser, and Kenny takes on a more serious tone once he notices my concerned expression.

"You'll be alright, Just don't let his bullshit get to you and you won't need to worry. If you need to you can crash in our room for a bit, just make sure to knock first."

This offer helps calm my nerves slightly; the support is a much needed reassurance.

Hesitantly, I reach for the handle and pull open the door.

**A.N. Whoever could his roommate be? We finally get to meet Cartman in the next chapter, so the pace is naturally going to pick up from here on out. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if it'll be as smooth as our favourite little Jew would like. Oh, the cursed suspense!**

**As always, ****_thank you so much_**** for reading, and please leave a review, I love to hear from all of you lovely people :)**

**The next update will probably be on a weekend as usual, I was just so excited for the fourth chapter I thought I'd post a little earlier. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as loved writing it.**

**- NocturnalLament**


	4. Charcoal Sketches and Chocolate Eyes

**A.N. Sorry this took so long. I've been so ridiculously busy and this was a rediculously hard scene to write. I've lost count of how many changes I've made to this chapter. I'm just glad it's finally done! Aside from oneshots, this is my longest chapter - almost 3,000 words! I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

><p>In retrospect, the whole introduction was rather surreal.<p>

The room was dark, and the floor was littered in various garments; rich wooden planks were mostly concealed by the abundance of fabric strewn haphazardly across the floorboards, carelessly discarded by their owner. The pale walls were sloppily decorated with a plethora of posters: Rammstein, Slasher flicks, horror movies, obscure foreign metal bands, Mel Gibson movies and old wartime propaganda with undecipherable German text.

On the desk, there lay several framed images. A beautiful, brunette woman stares back at the camera, the glass at the corners of the picture fractured from a forceful impact. The shards are as poignant and sharp as the scribbled writing in the corner, long faded in black ink. There is also an old cat with matted, thinning grey hair. Its plump body rests lazily across a faded 'Terrence and Phillip' duvet, sleeping silently. A caricature of an overweight child, dressed sloppily in an oversized jacket and a knitted bobble hat sits beside it, its frame chipped in the corners. The most recent image is also the most noticeable – a tall, dark brunette with a glimmer in his stunning chocolate irises, his frame bulky but toned, holding the extra weight in a way that is complementary to his figure. He is wearing a flatteringly fitted _space invaders_ t-shirt that helps define his broad shoulders, tensed as he holds his arms over the shoulders of his two companions. In one hand he holds a red plastic cup filled with an ambiguous amber liquid, in the other a black permanent marker. To his right Kenny stands, looking amusedly into the camera with a lively grin plastered deliriously on his drunken face. On the man's left is a slightly younger looking boy, his innocent eyes looking nervously at his friends as he chews on his lip. He is blonde, and has short tufts of pale hair atop his head; his left cheek decorated in smeared ink, several penises drawn sloppily across his sweet visage, marring his youthful complexion. Their surroundings are darkened, the only truly visible feature being the luminous banner wishing everyone a 'Happy New Year 2014'.

They seemed so content, so joyful in the idyllic image, a harsh comparison to the way I'd spent my new year – crying in a corner over some douchebag that would never love me.

_How pathetic_. Perhaps it really is a good thing for me to come here…?

Many smaller pictures littered the walls, glossy printouts and polaroids, messily mounted photographs by some unknown photographer. Upon further inspection, they seem to be very skilfully taken. The invisible artist had shot each scene with creative precision – from shots of decaying trees and melancholy landscapes to scenes of eloquent grandeur and ornate statues. Each print is so expressive, so vibrant. So oddly beautiful.

There were several studies of human anatomy above the desk, a young male reclined across a sofa, against a wall, on his knees. The beautiful sketches bring the unknown man to life; the self-assured way he holds his body, the sheen of perspiration across his angular brow, his piercing stare. The man watches the artist, gazing through the graphite image and straight into the mind of the observer. His intricately drawn irises communicate something familiar – simultaneously disturbing and intriguing, a strange expression that causes my heart to clog my narrowing throat. Oh, how well I knew that look, how vividly I recalled that same irrational light in my own gaze at each flurried touch of Stan's lips, each beguiling caress. That strange border between unequivocal lust and undying affection, the scalding collision of passions of the body, heart and mind - The heated gaze of an impassioned lover.

Entranced by the mysterious portrait, I hesitantly extended my arms and brushed my gentle thumb across the coarse paper, staring awed at the composition. The accuracy is one thing, the skill of the artist is undeniable – but the most outstanding feature is the emotion expertly depicted in the curious man's expression.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Surprised by the sudden vocalization, I spun around frantically, pulled from my odd trance. Stunned, my hurried footwork faltered, and in my haste I lost my balance.

I Stumbled over - my eyes screwed shut perilously as I fell - dreading the imminent impact. I tensed in anticipation of an embarrassing collision that never came, instead finding myself in the unexpected grip of two strong arms. Large hands clutched at my sides, the firm hold causing sizable fingers to dig subtly into my chest. I gasped at the unexpected contact, unsure of who these warm hands had belonged to. My cheeks burnt scarlet from my clumsiness as I took a moment to orient myself, hesitantly opening my eyes to gaze at the tall figure that towered before me.

His deep eyes danced with humour and intrigue as he slowly took in the image before him - my reddened skin and shocked face, body twisted uncomfortably in his grasp. He has a sharp jaw and well defined features, slightly rounded from his extra weight. His eyes were delicious chestnuts and chocolate, swirling with thinly veiled excitement as he watched me with a strange glint in his captivating gaze.

I had suddenly became aware of my proximity to the odd man at that moment, his bodily heat radiating outward and warming my skin across the little space that separated us. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing roughly in his throat at the action, lips parted slightly. His hot breath danced across my skin when he exhaled, making my hair stand on end and further reddening my flushed cheeks.

"Huh," a teasing voice hums, an amused smirk evident in his voice. "I guess Jews really don't have coordination after all..."

"What? Who-" I started, surprised by the puzzling atmosphere. I couldn't quite place the unusual vibes being given off by the strange man, squirming slightly under his persistent gaze as he watched me with a slightly unnerving deliberation.

"How do you know I'm Jewish…?."

"Oh please, '_Brovlofski'? _With a name like that you must be Jew-royalty or something." He chides, his voice steady and deep despite the absurdity of his words. "I got told you'd be coming. Thought you'd have turned up by now, honestly. Did those assholes kidnap you or something?"

"Kidnap me? We got here as fast as we could! I… wait, Jew royalty? What is that supposed to mean?"

The boy arched his eyebrows incredulously, as if the answer to my question was painfully obvious.

"Your name is painfully Jewish," He explained simply. "I have to admit you're not quite what I was expecting. You're still ridiculously lanky and your nose is on the big side, but you're not that bad to look at… for a ginger Jew, I mean."

What on earth? This guy surely couldn't have been serious.

"I only look lanky in comparison to you! At least I'm not a tactless anti-Semitic fatass."

His eyes narrowed maliciously at the insult, and his sudden change of stature had me worrying I may have crossed some unclarified line. The brunette grumbled angrily, and without warning his grip released, causing my unsuspecting form to collide violently with the adamantine floorboards. I lay in shock for several moments, watching a smug Cheshire-cat grin spread across his mocking face.

"I'm not fat, I'm _big boned._" He mocks, his voice deep and spiteful. "Fuck you, Jew. You don't know a good thing when you see it."

"Sure, whatever you need to keep telling yourself to get through the day."

The frustrated boy opened his mouth to reply, but he is suddenly interrupted by the crash of the door. The wood shudders and the hinges creak as it is flung open, revealing a rather disturbed blonde with a garish orange parka balanced on his shoulders.

"I heard a crash. What did you do? You better-"

Kenny began to scold the taller boy, but his lecture trailed off immediately when he noticed me sprawled haphazardly across the floor. "What the actual hell, Cartman?"

"I'm fine!" I hurriedly answer, interjecting before he could tell some absurd tale. To demonstrate the authenticity of the statement I pulled myself upright, wincing subtly at the dull ache of my hips. "I just fell."

"The weight of the gold around his neck became too much to bear, his legs just gave way. Oh, his unfortunate covetous soul!" The larger boy's voice was laced with dripping sarcasm, amused by his petty joke. I shot him a biting glare, but this only seemed to heighten his enjoyment of the situation.

"Behave, Cartman. I'm not joking. If I hear one bloody thing from Scrooge _I __**will **__tell __**everyone**_ about what happened at the New Year's party."

The boy snorted in an outward show of apathy, but he was obviously disturbed by this intriguing prospect.

"Whatever, poor boy. I'm not surprised you had to resort to such a cheap method of manipulation."

"You're here on a scholarship too! Grow up and get some new insults."

He turned to face me, shooting a rugged smile in my direction. "Don't pay any attention to him. I'll see you at dinner, okay Kyle? Hang in there."

I just grumble at that, dumping my bags on the bed against the other wall as I bid him goodbye. At least there was someone half-decent in this place.

Although the other half of the room looked like the aftermath of some awful bombing, the walls beside my bed were unusually bare – the only variation in the sheen of paint being lighter patches from long gone posters. Perhaps I could ask the guy that took all of I fell back onto the freshly made bed; I savoured the smell of fresh cotton and lavender fabric softener, filling me with a sweet, much needed sense of relaxation. Waves of exhaustion washed over me, my mind overwhelmed by the events of the cursed day. Why can't everything go back to normal? As usual, I can't help but long for the past.

"Are you going to unpack? I don't want your shit lying around… Are you listening to me?"

"Hey, dude!" bellows the brunette boy, launching a slipper across the room and missing me by several inches. **_"Jew!"_**

"YES! Okay! _Fine! _I'll sort it put after dinner. This place looks like it's been ransacked by badgers or something, I hardly think a few more bags will make a difference... Calm your tits."

"I don't have tits. I told you, I'm not fat."

"Sure," I snort. He wasn't truthfully that large, but his flared nostrils and clenched fists were far too amusing to ignore. I simply couldn't pass up an opportunity to aggravate the asshole, and his weight seemed to be sensitive topic as far as he was concerned. "Is that what you got your scholarship for? Incredible debating skills?"

"Yeah right. Not _all of us_ have nice, rich Jewish daddies to pay for our education! It's only a partial one, I'm not here for free like that cheapskate pauper Kenny. He's only here because his parents supply some of the senior board members with drugs and shit. His poor as hell parents said they'd tip off the police if they didn't give him a place, so he doesn't even deserve to be here."

"But you do deserve to be here? I assume _you're_ not here because _you_ have friends, so what up with you?"

He grins at my inquiry, lounging back on his unmade bed carelessly. "I won an obstacle course, naturally."

I snort violently at the prospect before realizing that that was probably not the best reaction when it comes to this guy. He doesn't seem to care though, and even snickers lightly at how preposterous the statement had seemed. "Just kidding. It's part of a young offender's rehabilitation scheme. I've seen some fucked up shit, you know. I could have gone to juvie but I convinced the case workers otherwise. I'm so talented and I have so much potential that they pulled some strings, just for me."

"Bullshit, they must have been deluded to do that for anyone, especially_ you_. What would you even have done anyway? Did you fall over and crush a small child with your colossal weight? Run some neo-Nazi hate group?"

"Ha! I wish. There was this kid who was a dick to me, tried to make me look stupid… he didn't succeed at that of course. He wasn't smart enough to succeed, but he tried. Asshole tried to trick me with a botched transaction, so you know what I did?" He locked his eyes on mine, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I made him _eat his parents."_

I paused for a minute, staring dumbfounded into his eyes.

"You think I'm going to fall for that? _You're_ the one that's deluded. That doesn't even make sense."

"It does. I ground them up into chili and fed it to him. You should've seen the look on his face when I told him what he'd eaten."

I can't fucking believe this moron.

"Grow up. Seriously?"

"Yes! Just because you're kind lie all the time it doesn't mean everyone does it. _Filthy Kike."_

_What did he say?_ The words hit me like a ton of bricks, and my jaw fell open with the weight of them.

_It's not fair. None of it. I just want to go home, curl up in my room and scream until my throat is bloody._

It all hit me at once; the anxiety, the frustration, the guilt, the worry, the deep seated hatred. It bunt like acid in my chest, an all-consuming fury that begged for some form of release.

_Ever since everything started going downhill, I would just cry. Cry out my fears, my loathing, my defeat. A pathetic dance of sorrow, stuck on an awful loop. Tears and self-pity._

_But no, I'm not going to waste my tears on this asshole. __**Never.**_

**_"Shut the fuck up! _****Don't call me that! What kind of a moron are you? I'm not going to deal with your shit." I spit each syllable, punctuating each word with exasperated venom. "I hate this bloody prison and your fat ass is hardly helping! Just leave me ****_the fuck _****_alone_****."**

Once I've finished my outburst, I felt the angered tremors of my knees subside, my heaving breaths slowing as my furious heartbeat decelerated, the adrenaline fading from my veins_. I just shouted at him. _I flinched involuntarily at the thought, back on edge as I prepared myself for the collision of his heavy fists or the lash of his sharp tongue.

After a moment of silence, our eyes met and I was suddenly mesmerised by how expressive they were. They lit up like the northern lights, shining in amusement and strange curiosity, with an odd trace of something difficult to place - a strange concoction of fascination, pride and anticipation. His inexplicable emotions danced gracefully in captivating hues of cinnamon and burnt umber.

"What do you know? Our little ginger Jewboy might have some bite in him after all."

His voice sounded so genuinely pleased that I felt a subtle rush of blood to my cheeks, perplexed by his sudden approval. I'd only just met him, but it felt like I'd known him forever.

_What on earth does this man want?_

If only I had known then what this boy would one day mean to me.

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><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading!<strong>

**I have so much gratitude to all the lovely people that have liked and followed this story, and especially everyone that took the time to review. Your feedback and support is invaluable to me, and I love you all.**

**I'm not sure whether to add in Crenny (Craig X Kenny) or Creek (Craig X Tweek) so let me know which you'd rather see in later chapters. If there are other ships/cameos you want to see then please tell me, I'd love to include a little fanservice for your favourite characters etc.**

**- NocturnalLament**

Blankslate101 – that's a good idea! I'll probably slip that in in one of the next chapters. We'll meet the rest of the gang soon, don't worry.


	5. Insults and uncertainties

**A.N. A relatively mild offensive language warning ahead. But this****_ is_**** South Park, so I guess this is a given. Enjoy!**

I open my eyes to an unfamiliar world.

Shimmering light streams through the window, illuminating the dust particles that dance gracefully through the air, riding the flow of the convection currents. There is a prominent quiet, a calm absence of sound that soothes my senses, contributing to the wonderful sense of tranquillity washing over my soothed body. Still between the realms of dreams and reality, I am untroubled by the events of the previous day as I instead focus on my foreign surroundings.

The intricate plaster patterns on the ceiling are the first thing that I notice to be amiss, the unusual texturing unlike that I ever recall seeing. Then I notice the pale walls, patches reminiscent of old decorations. As I begin to piece together where I am, my relaxation dissipates and I am left feeling rather uneasy. I contemplate running to the bathroom for a moment, but my nausea eventually subsides, leaving me feeling somewhat hollow.

How many miles am I from London? From everything I've known? There might have been some difficulties recently, but at least there I knew where I was, _who_ I was.

It dawns on me I've boarded a raft and been cast out to sea. Was my makeshift boat doomed from the outset? I can't help but feel like there's a shipwreck on the horizon. The uncertainty of the situation is wearing away at my nerves, igniting my self-doubt and gnawing at my insides.

_What do I do?_

"Hey Jewboy! You need to get ready. We've got half an hour until we have to leave."

"Go away," I groan at the mysterious voice, "I want to go home."

"That's what they all say. You'll be fine in a few weeks or so. You need to give it time, their brainwashing doesn't work overnight."

I look towards the source of the voice, suddenly recognising the sleepy baritone of my new roommate. What joys does he have in store for me today?

"Fuck you. I'm tired and I don't want to be here."

"Wow, how polite!" Cartman mocks, grinning to himself as he melodramatically smacks his palms on his plump cheeks. He looks dishevelled but oddly attractive, with the strange allure of the 'I-just-woke-up' look. His tousled brunette locks haphazardly frame his angular face, his weary eyes somehow maintaining their gorgeous deep hue. He wears a burgundy silk pyjama top with the top few buttons undone, revealing the pale flesh of his clavicle. I notice faint nicotine stains on his thick digits as he runs his fingers through his hair, yawning contentedly. He opens his eyes then, staring at me quizzically with one eyebrow raised.

_Shit. I'm staring at him._

I try to cover by shaking my head slightly, pretending I was snapping out of a trance. I make a quiet questioning noise and he watches me knowingly, a hugely satisfied grin plastered across his smug face.

I see a blur before my eyes and dodge accordingly, shocked by the sudden movement. My muscles tense automatically, expecting some form of violence from the heavyset man. I feel almost certain I'm about to be pummelled by a pair of heavy fists, and my stomach convulses.

I open my eyes wearily to find myself still intact, with a bundle of messily folded fabric sat messily on my lap. Cartman seemed to have enjoyed my reaction, lips turned upward in amusement as he studies my form.

"Your uniform. If you plan on going to class today you'll probably need it."

"Oh joy. Don't remind me."

He moves forward and pokes at the flaming mess of curls on my head, entertaining private thoughts as he flicks at the untameable locks. He pulls on a strand and releases it, watching it return to its coiled state. He's oddly amused by my hair, which is quite disturbing but somehow feels like a strange compliment. He stands close as he plays with the fiery strands, and each inhalation gives me a lungful of his odd odour. The familiar smells of sickly sweet fabric softener and expensive aftershave invade my senses, accented by the faint traces of chocolate and wotsits* combining with his natural musk to make an exotic scent that is much more satisfying than it should reasonably be. The relatively mundane odours dance together to form a peculiar scent almost as unusual and strangely attractive as its source. How curiously fitting.

"Woah, your hair is nuts. It's like some kind of red afro… a Jewfro. The genetic lottery must have really screwed you over Kahl, both Jewish and Ginger? What did you do to incite the wrath of god?" He inquires, sounding legitimately concerned by my 'awful predicament'.

"Seriously? At least I'm not fat!"

"No, you're a lanky bundle of skin and bones. Your clothes size is _extra small_, you can't deny it. You're a weedy motherfucker."

"I don't even _want _to ask how you knew that."

"It's on your uniform tags. Now get your ass out of bed or I'll throw your shoes at you too! The teachers will give me a tonne of shit if you're late. I'm not having my impeccable reputation ruined by a lazy, sneaky Jew."

"Fine, you dick." I groan angrily at him, pushing myself up from the alluring comfort of the cashmere sheets. My once neat uniform is now slightly crumpled in a heap on my mattress, so I shake it all out in hope of smoothing out the fabric slightly.

The blazer is elegant, I must admit. It reminds me of a similar green garment I have at home somewhere, from some exclusive Italian designer. I admit that despite my inescapable 'gayness' as far as sexuality is concerned I hardly have an eye for fashion, but I can appreciate a well-tailored suit. The uniform is a typical business attire style affair - as most decent secondary schools have these days – but has its own subtle charm. The material appears black from a distance, but when closely observed the fabric has a lovely midnight hue, with accents of grey on the pocket flaps and the collar. The opulent school coat of arms is intimately embroidered onto the dark fabric, with silver threads woven into the design giving it a subtle shimmer. There is a grey woollen pullover with a neat V-neck, accented with Cambridge blue. Judging by the weather I assume I will become well acquainted with this particular piece of clothing. A set of pale dress shirts with light tinges of blue and dark grey formal trousers lie on my duvet, crumpled at the corners. I grab a set and lay them out neatly, quietly contemplating the attire from above.

"I don't know what kind of million pound designer suits you're used to wearing, but the uniform here doesn't magically fly and clothe you on your command." I don't turn to look, but I can hear the sarcastic smirk in his tone.

"Oh _really?_ How insightful. Try not to sound too bitter, it makes you look jealous. I bet if you'd been born with a silver spoon in your mouth you'd probably have eaten it anyway, lardass."

"Such dry wit, huh Kahl? So very funny. How long have you been holding on to that one?"

I narrow my eyes at that. _'Kahl'?_ This guy has an odd inflection - a hint of an accent I can't trace - but I swear he's butchering the pronunciation of my name just to get under my skin. Sighing frustratedly, my nostrils flare as I grab a pair of boxer briefs from my suitcase.

"You sound awfully butthurt. Did I strike a chord? What the hell does money have to do with this anyway?"

"_Pfft_. Me, butthurt? If anyone has a sore ass around here it's you, fag."

My heart convulses in my throat as I stand bewildered, caught out by this sudden insult. A million questions swirl in my head. _Am I that obvious? How does he know? Did someone tell him? Did he search my things? Does he know about __**him? **_

I know that it's a common insult amongst teenagers but it's never been directed toward me before, or even said with such conviction in my presence. In my somewhat fragile state the filthy word burns harshly. I can deal with the other insults, even the anti-Semitism, but I can't cope with _this! _It's an effective appeal to my insecurities, and I can't help but feel sickened by his accuracy.

As I stand with my mouth agape, I'm certain that if he wasn't really sure before that my reaction was all the confirmation he needed. He seems unfazed by this revelation however, just watching my horrified look with a sparkle of amusement in his swirling chocolate irises.

"Fuck you" I spit, trying desperately to regain my composure. "Leave me alone, you bigoted prick. _I hate you."_

Yet as I turn, his gaze doesn't waiver. And as I dress in the new fabrics, I can't shake the feel of his eyes on me. I feel trapped by the gaze of a man that probably isn't even looking my way as I remove my vest, shivering as the bitter air hits my bare skin. My face floods with warmth as the blood rushes to my cheeks, staining my upper body a vibrant red. It had been so long since I shared a room with someone other than Stan that I'd forgotten what it's like to dress in front of an audience. Under his watchful stare, I feel unusually exposed. It's as if this mysterious boy can see right through me, see the inner workings of my mind.

It must all be my imagination. I just need to release some stress. I'm almost eager for the distractions my classes are sure to bring.

Without a further word to Eric Cartman, I head out into the unknown.

**A.N.: Thanks for reading! Sorry, it's a bit of a boring/short chapter but things are really going to kick off soon. Kyle is going to meet his classmates for the first time, so I'm quite excited for it.**

**What will he find out about his roommate? What is with the way Craig is acting towards a certain caffeine-addicted blonde? Has Cartman shared his secret, or does he have one of his own?**

**All will be revealed next week! Thank you so much for reading and have a great day. Lots of love to my wonderful reviewers and followers, you are the metaphorical butter to my creative bread.**

**Until next time,**

**- NocturnalLament**

*Wotsits are basically the British equivalent of 'cheesy poofs'. Do Americans actually have Cheesy Poofs, or are they just fictional? I've seen similar things online from America but I don't know if it's an actual brand.


	6. New Faces in Unwelcome Places

**A.N: I'm not too sure about how this chapter came out, I'm ill at the moment and I'm sat in bed drowning in my own tissues, so please forgive me if there are any mistakes. As always, I hope you enjoy reading. This chapter is dedicated to Blankslate101, whose lovely reviews never fail to motivate me and always leave a big smile on my face.**

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><p>Amidst the vibrant bustle of activity, my mind is elsewhere. The buzzing life of the classroom drones in my ears like background traffic, disregarded in favour of my own private musings. I make no conscious attempt to notice their conversations, but I feel acutely aware that I'm likely the topic of their debates. It's just as well, really; I don't think I could cope with hearing stupid speculation about 'the new kid'. It's hardly a pleasant role, but I try to find comfort in the fact that it's a position that I've filled many times previously – regardless of the difficulties that came as a consequence.<p>

A gentle hand on my shoulder shocks me back to reality. My heart jumps into my throat at the sudden contact, and Stan's name is on my lips. I swirl on my chair to face the unknown assailant only to be met with the blue hue of compassionate eyes and the dishevelled golden bangs of Kenny. His uniform is very disordered; his tie is undone and resting above the fold of his collar and his slightly oversized blazer is faded and littered with button badges and patches. A navy scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck, raised over his jaw so it slightly muffles the sound of his speech. I hadn't even noticed him take the desk next to me. I smile in response, trying to appear calm and collected. I assume I failed miserably at this when he worriedly eyes my expression, leaning in so we can have a somewhat private conversation amidst the bustle of the form room.

"Are you okay? You look kind of out of it." He inquires, his legitimate concern for my wellbeing evident in his voice. "Fatboy didn't do anything did he? If it's bad I'll kick his ass! He's probably just trying to get to you Kyle."

His kindness brings a rare smile to my lips.

"No, I'm fine. I'm just a bit preoccupied with stuff." I dismiss his worry, trying to assure him I can cope; even though that is something I'm not quite certain of myself.

"I won't be angry if you don't want me to. He did something right? You grimaced when I asked you, and knowing him he would have at least tried to piss you off by now."

God damn it. What should I say? It's not as if I'm unfamiliar with coping with difficult people (you had to be when you lived with my mother), but that one little insult had really thrown me off. It's just a word. Three stupid little letters, and yet they linger in my mind like a foul odour. The paranoia and hurt lurk malignant in the back of my skull, invading my thoughts. It shouldn't have unnerved me the way it did - It's ridiculous, but reason doesn't seem to placate my nerves. My response to a simple phrase is just preposterous - and I keep telling myself this - but it doesn't change anything. The irrational fear still lingers.

"Do you know if he is… homophobic? I was just wondering, some of the things he said just seemed a little weird." I might as well ask him, out of everyone in this god forsaken place he seems the most trustworthy.

"Oh hell no! What on earth could give you that idea?"

"He called me a fag. It doesn't bother me particularly or anything, it's just that-"

"Well you're most likely gay then. Knowing him he probably just thinks he's making an innocent observation."

I lower my voice, disturbed by how easily he came to that conclusion. Is there some large flashing sign above my head declaring my sexual orientation? Did Ike tattoo _'I'm gay'_ onto my forehead whilst I was asleep?

"Why would you think that? His insults are hardly a reliable basis for such assumptions."

"Nobody questions his opinion when it comes to these matters. He's long reigned as the '_King of the Gaydar', _so his word is pretty much considered final. Don't worry dude, we won't view you any differently. Craig is gay too, so if you need to talk to anyone about this kind of thing he'll be happy to help out. I can even smuggle you some condoms if you'd like-"

"_No!_ That won't be necessary, just don't worry about it, please. 'It takes one to know one', anyway - he should know his gossip says more about him than it does about me."

"You've got that right. Did you seriously not realise yet? He hardly hides it; I would have expected you to have it figured out by now. He came out last year, it was awful. He wrote a full musical and dance number about how much he liked dick... He has a bit of a flair for the dramatic, you could say. There were streamers and balloons; he even made himself a 'coming out' cake. After he found out that no one really cared he got really angry at everyone. Practically the whole school could tell he was gay, and once he found out that everyone already knew he flipped his shit. He was really mad, and when he realized I was betting on his sexuality with Token and Clyde he punched a hole in my wall and cooked me brownies filled with horse laxatives. He's not the most agreeable of people. I'm surprised you didn't notice straight away, I always figured he wouldn't let us into his room because he had posters of Calvin Klein underwear models over his bed or something."

I'm stunned, so I just sit with a dumbfounded look on my face. What? I'm pleased that there isn't exactly a homophobia issue at this school but I hardly expected to have a roommate like… _me. _He's hardly the type I'd expect to get on with – quite the understatement - but perhaps this could be the bridge to connect us, a common ground to help tame his inexplicable cruelty. For once, everything somehow feels slightly less bleak_. He understands. _I've never really had someone to share my feelings with (a certain someone had always avoided such topics) but the concept of not having to hide who I am is wonderfully liberating. Perhaps this isn't going to be as awful as I thought it would, perhaps this is going to be the silver lining to my dreary February clouds, painfully inevitable in the obscure British countryside.

What should I say? I don't exactly want to confirm his suspicions about me. I go with the first thing that comes to mind.

"Oh, that's cool."

I can't help but mentally pat myself on the back for my wonderful tact. Such social finesse. Not long now until every weirdo here falls down in reverence at my feet.

The incessant chatter suddenly quietens as a smartly dressed woman swaggers into the room, dark brunette hair down to her sharp shoulders and her slightly elasticated skirt stretched tightly across her swaying hips. Kenny's attention is immediately lost as he turns to gaze at the buxom brunette, appreciatively drinking in her feminine form. The woman wipes at the whiteboards, removing crude scribbles and even cruder drawings with the spear of a damp cloth (the rather realistic depictions of penises were Craig's work, or so I'm told). The room descends into silence, and I become acutely aware that most of my classmates are completely enthralled by her presence. I can't help but feel envious of them! Everything could be so simple if I could just find her as attractive in the same way they do, I wouldn't even be in this awful mess. I will myself to be interested in the curvaceous female, but as usual my body and mind fail to respond to the proceedings. The only remotely attractive thing about her is her unusually masculine shoulders… they're no way near as broad as Cartman's, but perhaps if I covered up the rest of her body I guess she could pass as a male. I have to admit, I have quite the thing for manly shoulders. The thought of being held down my Cartman's bulky frame, his muscle rippling under his skin as I dig my nails into his powerful shoulders flashes through my mind without warning, and the tantalising images catch me off guard.

I should not think like that, especially about _him._

"Good morning everyone. As I'm sure you are aware, we have a new student in our midst." She starts, glancing suspiciously in my direction, and I wonder if I had somehow already made some monumental mistake - become a cause for concern. I can't help but wonder why she looked this way… could she tell my disturbing thoughts? Is it a look of disgust? I could sympathise, I'm rather repulsed myself. I'm flooded with relief when she focuses on the desk next to me, it's occupant suspiciously absent.

"Wait? Where is Craig _now_? Kenny, I _told_ you to make sure he didn't skive! This is a blatant disrespect…"

"Sorry I'm late." Craig drones from the doorway, unaffected by the angered woman's no-nonsense tone. He walks to the place beside me, passing a metal thermos to the blonde next to him. As I look over, I am startled by the recipient's eye-catching appearance. He twitches slightly as he receives his gift, hugging the thermos to his chest before opening it and pouring himself a small amount of aromatic black liquid, blowing frantically on the surface of the bitter beverage to speed the cooling process. His arm shakes lightly as he brings the substance to his lips, quickly devouring the steaming coffee. He is just in his dress shirt, but seems undisturbed by the biting cold. The buttons are mismatched and his hair seems to stick out at odd angles, giving the neurotic boy a dishevelled appearance. The odd figure continues to convulse, yet these mannerisms seem to go unnoticed by all but Craig, who watches the odd boy intently.

"Gah! T-t-thank you Craig…" The boy's mutter seems very unnerved, and I find some comfort in the fact that someone else is more nervous than me. I'd assume he was new also, but the familiar looks Craig shoots his way have me thinking otherwise.

Then Craig does something I think very few people have ever truly seen. He smiles.

Perplexed, I look away from the odd interaction and try to focus on our teacher. She introduces herself as Miss Ellen, and hands me an envelope that I stash into one of my blazers convenient pockets – some more dull forms, most likely. I know what's coming next, I don't even need to hear her say it. I know the protocol. Someone shoot me, please… I don't want to face the humiliation.

"Kyle, why don't you come and introduce yourself?" She queries, her voice sickly sweet as she summons me to my doom. Dread builds in the pit of my stomach as I stand reluctantly, feeling many pairs of eyes on my back as I proceed to the front of the classroom. I lean back on the desk and images of my first meeting with Stan run rampant through my head, but I swat them away quickly. I can't have myself thinking of such things when I'm trying to remain composed. I inhale deeply and timidly begin my haphazard speech.

"Hello. I'm Kyle Broflovski, and I'm from London. I was a day student at my last school, which was a busy co-ed institution in the city, so this is a bit of an unfamiliar environment for me. I came here for… a change of scenery. My father is a lawyer and my parents would like me to follow in his footsteps, but to be honest I'm not really sure of what I want to do yet. I just want to be happy, I guess."

At the back of the classroom, I hear Cartman mutter something about 'Jew mothers', earning a stern look from the black boy next to him, sporting short hair and narrowed brown eyes. I try to think of something unusual or interesting about me, but the interesting things are topics I'd rather not mention. I must make a rather dull first impression, but at this point I just want this to be over. _All of it. _

"I'm not all that interesting really. I like to read and my favourite subjects are English, Biology, Philosophy and Mathematics. I'm Jewish and I have a younger brother that just started here as well. He's a little pain, as all brothers are."

I get a few chuckles for the comment, and I'm glad I haven't made too much of a fool of myself yet, by some strange fluke or blessing.

"I'm diabetic and a little anaemic, so I get a bit sick sometimes. Or faint. Or both. It kind of sucks, but I feel obliged to mention it because I passed out once and some guy thought I was dead and broke one of my ribs trying to give me CPR. It wasn't particularly fun."

"Wow, that's interesting," Miss Ellen murmurs. I'm not exactly buying her enthusiasm. "Why don't we introduce ourselves so we can help him settle in?"

It's quite intriguing, actually, to see my classmates. There are a handful of typical bland types, but there seem to be many unusual characters that stand out from the others. I have a feeling that even I wouldn't stand out here, with my vibrant unruly hair, pale skin and my religious beliefs… and the sexual orientation that contradicts them, might I add.

"Hey, I'm Butters!" Says a cheery blonde, his face the only that seemed genuinely excited to meet me. His innocent smile is infectious, and I find myself smiling in response to his glee. He has a childish face, gleeful blue eyes and tufts of pale blonde hair. "I like dance and drama. Welcome Kyle!"

"I'm Clyde." Drones a ridiculously nasal voice that rivals Craig's perfected monotone. "I have a colostomy bag and I play the guitar."

"I-I-I'm Jimmy," Stutters a short brunette, fiddling at his metal crutches. His smile is slightly lopsided, and he eyes me with curiosity. "I l-like comedy and I'm an Olympic athlete." I crack a polite smile at that one, and he seems pleased at my amusement.

"I'm Token. I like basketball and other stuff. Just stuff"

"I'm Craig, and I'm obviously super awesome."

"I'm Kenny, and I'm obviously more awesome than Craig. "

Craig flips him off, causing him to get scolded by the teacher. He remains indifferent, flipping her off under the wood of the desk and muttering half-assed insults under his breath.

"I'm Eric, but these douchebags call me Cartman. I like photography and annoying soulless gingers and covetous Jews." He flashes a dazzling smile, looking unreasonably blasé despite the idiocy spilling from his mouth. I raise an eyebrow at him and he just grins wider, revelling in my frustration.

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><p>My first lesson is Maths, and I end up stuck between Cartman and the perky blonde from before. The brunette spends the first ten minutes of the lesson flicking balls of paper at the innocent-looking boy, who just rolls his eyes and doodles on his worksheet. We spent half of the lesson in silence until I feel someone tapping roughly on my arm. Oh joy, what an honour.<p>

"Hey Jew! Help me with number three." Cartman hisses, leaning in toward me and tearing my attention from a particularly challenging equation.

"You're only on three? You wouldn't need help if you'd just listened to the instructions."

"I know, but you can tell me what to do." Cartman whines, a pleading look in his eyes.

"Why do you think I know how to get it right?"

"Because you're a Jew. It's in your nature. Now come on and tell me what to do. I'll make it worth your while." His tone becomes promising, and his eyes sparkle darkly, amused at his private thoughts.

"No. You don't have anything to offer me anyway."

"I'd like to beg to differ, dear Kahl." He speaks, a smirk tugging at his lips. His vocal tone is deep and mischievous, and his syrupy voice raises the hairs on my arms, sending subtle shivers down my spine.

"Fuck off, please. Find someone else to irritate." I retort exasperatedly, trying to conceal the strange way his voice had affected me. He doesn't seem to notice however, and lets out a frustrated sigh at his failure.

What is up with him? What on earth is he trying to achieve?

"Butters?" He inquires, turning to the blonde at my left.

"S-sorry Eric, Miss Ellen says I can't let you copy from my work anymore. I could get in real big trouble like last time." He glances apologetically at the brunette, who just rolls his eyes stubbornly.

Cartman sighs, his nostrils flaring as he grumbles something along the lines of 'stupid pussy', turning back to his paper. He fiddles for a moment before looking over at me discreetly, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he completes the question with ease.

This guy just leaves me with so many questions. Questions I'm beginning to want answers for.

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><p><strong>A.N. There we go, I hope you liked it. This was more of a quick intro of some of the characters, so it's probably not that good. We're going to get to know everyone better over the next few chapters and learn some of their juicy secrets and backstories (and if you have any other ideas for certain characters or you'd love to see a cameo etc. then let me know and I'll include it as soon as I can). <strong>

**Next time things only get stranger for Kyle – He overhears a confusing interaction that leaves him wondering how the seemingly indifferent Craig **_**really **_**feels about his mysterious neurotic classmate, and an odd conversation leaves him even more confused and intrigued about his new roommate (and his unclear intentions). Either way, the attractive brunette wants **_**something, **_**and Kyle is determined to find out what it is. **

**Thank you all so much for reading. I can't say how grateful I am for every wonderful person that reviews and follows, you inspire me with your kindness. I hope you enjoyed and I'll hopefully have chapter 7 posted next week. ****Lots of love to the aforementioned Blankspace101, mtwdd, Rainmy, FloppyIShipIt, EchoKatt, cigarette-daydreams, LifeAndDeath and Symphknot. Virtual hugs for everyone!**

**- NocturnalLament**


	7. Tied by Your Guitar Strings

**A.N: I'm so ridiculously sorry about how late this is! I've been insanely busy and I'm ill again, so I've been struggling to get this done. It's been a while since the last chapter so I hope this makes up for it. It somehow ended up being about twice as long as the others, so I hope it flows well. I'm sorry if it's not as good as I hoped it would be, my rereading skills are greatly reduced when I'm under a sea of used tissues.**

**I hope you enjoy reading,_ Homophobic language warning ahead._**

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><p>God damn it, I'm such a moron. If my mother was here now she would kill me, no doubt about it. The caretakers would be picking pieces of my pulverised brain from in between the floorboards for weeks.<p>

I've been doing alright; I'd honestly survived this frightful place quite well in the last week. Except for the odd petty arguments and bashing of heads with my vexatious roommate, I was doing okay. No slip ups or catastrophes, despite my penchant for making stupid mistakes.

So naturally, I managed to forget to take my insulin. Coupled with the stress of an unfamiliar setting and the sudden change in my blood sugar levels, I feel awful.

Oh joy, how fantastic.

It started this morning; it was just another stupid conflict over something inconsequential that escalated into a heated debate. I can't even remember what had started the whole thing, I was so preoccupied with my frustration that the details evade me now. Some harsh words were exchanged, small objects were thrown. He hit me with one of his down pillows, causing several feathers to flutter onto my uniform and into my unruly auburn hair. I called him a dick and he just chuckled scornfully, tauntingly suggesting that I was 'the type that knows one when he sees one'. I shot him a menacing look, the effects of my glare lessened by the fact I looked like a literal bird's nest - my vibrant fiery curls were tangled in a mess of hair and dainty feathers. Smiling sarcastically, I lashed out without thinking, telling him that I'm getting tired of his hypocritical gay quips.

I'd half expected him to get angry, or to throw something at me,_ some_ form of retaliation. But he'd just sat, smirking amusedly with one eyebrow raised, his eyes challenging - a strange dark look in his swirling chestnut irises.

He eyed me for several moments, observing my frozen body with a strange expression I couldn't place. He'd seemed almost like a sly predator evaluating his prey, and his fixated gaze had seemingly burnt holes in my skin.

The sensation of him watching me had caused my skin to heat inexplicably, the scorching blood staining my cheeks a dreadful scarlet shade. His fixed stare disturbed me, causing me to nervously shift under the heavy weight of his gaze, the strange atmosphere gnawing away at my nerves.

_Is he trying to make me uncomfortable? How can he examine me so intently, yet seem so wrapped up in his own private thoughts? _

_Why does he unnerve me, and look so strangely alluring whilst doing it?_

"Whatever, Jew." He muttered dismissively, suddenly breaking his gaze. "Suck my balls."

And just like that, the odd spell was broken. His flippant words had dispelled the curious atmosphere, and it was almost as if the strange moment had never occurred. He lay back down on his messy bed, pushing the pile of clothes at his feet onto the disordered floor as I watched incredulously, trying to absorb what he'd said. He picked at his cuticles as he watched the ceiling, appearing rather confused himself by the odd exchange.

"Oh, very mature. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I retort, the acidity of my voice lessened slightly by my bewilderment. Why can he make the hairs on the back of my neck stand and my nerves tingle from something as simplistic as a gaze? I expected him to be discouraged by my rebuttal, but he just shot me a devious smile – his eyes sparkling with excitement over some unknown prospect.

"You bet I would."

_…__what?_

I don't get his sense of humour. He's probably just trying to upset me, get under my skin as always. I debated yelling at him; telling him that he'd gone too far, but that wouldn't have gotten us anywhere. I'd shot him a glare, but my eagerness to retaliate was overpowered by my irritation over his blatant stupidity. I just rolled my eyes and left, deciding to devote my energy to eating breakfast rather than trying to understand what _on earth_ was going through that asshole's head. It's wasn't worth the effort, surely.

"That's nice, I _love_ hearing about your balls, _really. _I'm going to get breakfast."

As I left, I felt his eyes on my back once more – he seemed stunned into silence by my uncharacteristic display of maturity and self-restraint.

I hadn't realised I'd forgotten my injection until second period, when I'd suddenly felt faint and lethargic. In my rush to leave I'd completely forgotten to grab my insulin kit! The typical warning signs were there, and once I bent over to retrieve my dog-eared copy of _The Tempest, _my lousy body threatened to give way as I swayed dangerously. Noticing my disorientation, my philosophy teacher said I should head to the medical office, and instructed a short brunette boy to escort me. I quickly declined the offer, unwilling to make the boy hobble across campus on his crutches (in retrospect, I can't quite recall the boy's name… _Timmy?)._

The situation was embarrassing enough already, I didn't need someone playing babysitter for me – especially one that would struggle to make the trip.

"I'm fine. It's not that far." I lied.

I gladly stumbled into the hallway, immediately relieved to have left the confines of the stuffy classroom. Feeling somewhat listless, I walk at a reduced place, close to the corridor walls in case I lost my balance.

It's been a while since I'd gotten this bad, and I can't help but curse myself for my poorly timed stupidity. I'm so preoccupied by my own self-depreciating thoughts that it takes me a few minutes to realize I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. I survey my surroundings, but it's clear I'm in completely unfamiliar territory.

"Shit," I exasperatedly mutter under my breath. "_Every single time!_ I need to get a hold of myself."

I pull out the campus map that I'd hastily shoved into my blazer pocket, straightening out the crumpled paper before studying it intently, trying to determine my location. I lean against a nearby doorframe, eager to find somewhere recognizable. I'm so absorbed in my attempts to locate myself that an unexpected sound makes me jump out of my skin.

**_"_****_It's your own fault, you know." _**

I'm startled at the sudden voice, taunting and full of malice. I assume that his words are directed at me, and my stomach churns at the prospect of making an enemy so soon after arriving here. I consider how to react, and just before I can question the mystery man's motives I hear another voice – a familiar one this time – from the other side of the door.

"It's none of your business what I do. You don't even understand it, so how do you think you can just come up and say that?"

"Easily. What you're doing is _sick, _that's all the justification we need. " Speaks out a third voice, the vicious tone setting me on edge.

"It's pathetic," Spits the first man. "You can't seriously give a shit about him, do you? He's just some spastic kid. Playing this stupid game with him is going to cost you our friendship; it's not remotely worth it."

"I hardly value your friendship. Just look at the way your acting! You must be crazy to think I'd give a fuck."

"Oh, you will care. You know how much influence we have over the others. We could make this place a _living hell _for you and your little _boyfriend_."

Bile rises in my throat, and I will my legs to _move_, to just run away from here – but I stand shocked as I hear the heated conversation. I can't help but be simultaneously curious and disturbed, and I scold myself for not leaving right here and now. It's not my business, and yet I can relate so much that I'm sickened by the callous males' words. Each bladed word feels like a kick to the gut, a vocalization of my deep-seated insecurities.

"You're a disgusting little fag, that's all you are and all you'll ever be. But _him? _What could you possibly see in that kid? Just leave him the fuck alone. I saw you looking at him today, it makes my skin crawl. It's not _natural. _Just dump the little shit and come back to us, the little freak isn't worth screwing yourself over for."

"Don't you _dare_ tell me what to do! I don't give two shits about what you think, but it's up to _me_ how I feel and how I act. Don't tell me what I want, I know what I'll choose and nothing you say will change that. He is worth _every_ sacrifice," Growls the younger man, biting back with a fire of his own. "I don't care what you do to me; just leave him out of it. I swear if _you even think_ about touching him I_ will _kill you."

"Oh, how scary. I tremble in fear. What the hell are you going to do to me, _faggot?"_

_"_I'll break your fucking teeth in. Don't try me, Trent. You know I'm not bluffing."

"Yeah right," quips the third voice, "You wouldn't do that, not anymore. You know as well as we do that if you got expelled you'd never see him again, _Tucker_."

And then I realise who the voice belongs to. And I wish I could run to his defence, perhaps even kick their pathetic asses, but I need to be realistic. This isn't a movie, some half-hearted story printed on wood pulp. This is real life, not some idyllic fantasy.

So I run. I feel like an awful person for it, but I just want to get away.

The rapid speed makes me feel rather sickly, and my knees tremor under my weight. I sprint until I find a recognisable corridor, collapsing against a wall to regain some of my strength. I breathe deeply, trying to calm the speeding heart that seemingly convulses in my chest. What on earth was that? I can't help but worry that he is in deep trouble. Those men hardly seemed to be joking.

Most of all I'm just bewildered. I'm not stupid, I know it happens, but I'd never _truly_ experienced homophobia in real life. Not with such legitimate cruelty, so much palpable hate. What if they knew I heard them? Would they turn their unwelcome spitefulness to me? It's an incredibly selfish thought given the circumstance, but a distressing one regardless.

In a show of weakness, my instinct of self-preservation had won over my concern for the wellbeing of a fellow student. I feel a twinge of guilt as I consider the situation. Should I alert an authority figure? It could cause so many complications. I know what I should probably do; I'm just not sure how to do it. I'm not even sure if I really understood what they were talking about, or who he could have valued so deeply that he would defend him so vehemently.

I'm going to have to ask Craig about this myself.

* * *

><p>"Hey, pass the ketchup. Come on Kahl, don't hog it all."<p>

"I'm not even using it. Why would I ruin a decent steak with cheap processed rubbish?" I roll my eyes at is dumbfounded look, seemingly taken aback by my disagreement. "I'm not your slave; you can easily reach from there."

The brunette grumbles, sighing melodramatically. "I don't care. Don't try to indoctrinate me with your hippie crap. It's a bloody delicious combination no matter what you say."

He reaches across the table, lifting himself out of his seat so he can claim his prize. He leans over my plate, his tie almost landing in my dinner as he tries to retrieve the bottle. His sudden proximity makes my breath hitch, and I get a lungful of his strange scent. He's wearing a new cologne today, one I've never noticed him using before.

I have to admit it suits him; the odour is complex and somewhat musky, unusual and rather attractive in a unique way. How very fitting to his character…

"Do you really need to get so close?" I question, my voice accidentally rising in pitch, startled by his proximity. "I'm trying to eat here."

"Whatever, you should have passed it to me. Don't look so offended, I know you can't get enough of my wonderful hot body."

I hear cutlery clatter onto the table as Clyde begins to choke, gasping around the food lodged in his throat as Kenny roars in laughter, his whole body shaking with his amusement. My cheeks burn a deep crimson, and I raise my hand to my face in an attempt to conceal the unwelcome blush that burns across my skin.

"Oh God!" Chuckles Kenny, grinning widely at the hilarity of the arrogant statement. "You wish, Cartman! I think anyone would be hard pressed to find you hot, even if you weren't so fat. Good one, real funny."

"Piss off Kenny." Cartman growls, angrily shoving a large forkful of beef into his mouth. He narrows his eyes at the blonde, chewing irately.

I hardly agree with Kenny's observations, but I'm not exactly eager to voice my opinions. _That's_ hardly something I want out on the table, and besides, I'm not sure how much more inflation Cartman's ego can take.

I hear approaching footsteps, and we look up from our conversations to see Craig sauntering in as if he hadn't had a care in the world. I'm relieved to see him again, and he appears to be perfectly fine. Thank god he's okay.

"Where've you been dude?" Kenny inquires, grinning over at the most recent addition to our table as he vocalises his thoughts. "You should've turned up sooner; it's hardly easy to stop Cartman from stealing your food."

I hear Cartman kick Kenny's legs under the table, hitting him dead in the shins and earning an aggravated yelp from the disgruntled blonde.

"Scrooge's been lecturing me again, wouldn't shut up for ages. Gave my physics teacher the finger and she blew her top, and it was hardly even my fault –the bitch totally deserved it. Gave me_ another_ fucking detention."

"Good one man," Clyde nods appreciatively. "I hate her. She gave me a C on my autumn term project because she hated the font. Apparently Star Wars has nothing to do with proton-proton chains, but it's all space stuff right?"

"I-I'm surprised she even cared, most p-people are just used to… used to it by now," Stutters Jimmy, frowning at Craig's predicament. "A detention j-jus' for that? You always flip her off."

"Who even cares?" Interjects Cartman, resting his chin on his fist in a show of embellished apathy. "Something must have crawled up her arse and died. Nothing new... Are you going to eat that?"

He looks at me pointedly, gesturing at my pudding with his fork. I huff in frustration, but push the dish in his direction anyway. I have no idea how much sugar is in it and I have no desire to find out.

"Nice." He murmurs, running his tongue slowly over his slightly chapped lips in appreciation. He brings a spoonful into his mouth as the others resume their petty exchange, yet my focus stays on the brunette's movements. I'm unwittingly captivated as he brings the silver utensil to his mouth with no hesitation, savouring the morsel of dessert whilst melodramatically running his tongue across the metal, cleansing every trace from the glinting surface.

He cuts another portion with the side of the spoon, scooping it into his waiting mouth. Once again, his tongue darts from between his parted lips to caress the spoon, the wet muscle firm against the metal as it runs over each curve and crevice, long after every trace of the desert had been licked up. His eyes dart upwards to meet mine, and he smirks at the red tinge that had spread across my features.

"Whatever is the matter,_ Kahl?"_ He questions, his sing-song tone tainted with exaggerated innocence. "This is _so very_ yummy, I can't help but enjoy it. It tastes _so good."_

He sighs in mock ecstasy, devouring another bite while keeping his eyes trained intently on my expression. I can't look away from the odd display and he revels in this fact, drawing out a lengthy groan that is bordering on sensual. _Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts._ I bite the inside of my lip to try and ground myself, tearing my eyes from his disturbing actions. He won the game and he knows it, genuine grin lighting up his features.

Prick.

"I hate you, you know." I grumble, averting my gaze as I begin to pick at my half-finished side-salad, somewhat amused at the futility of my own statement.

* * *

><p>I hesitated before knocking, hand hovering momentarily over the wood. I'd yet to step foot in the room, but I've heard enough of its occupants to be certain it was the right door. Honestly, my hesitance is more based on my lack of faith in myself, my uncertainty of what to say.<p>

I realise that my concern is probably just going to worsen the situation – consideration is hardly needed. I should just speak what comes to mind, but I'm afraid of the reaction I'll get. I doubt that he wants anyone to know, especially some new kid that he doesn't even know.

After a few moments of helpless pondering, I decide to knock. The rattle of my fist was rather quiet, and I was uncertain whether the occupants would be able to hear me over the steady beat of their music.

As I go to knock once more, I'm startled by an unexpected voice calling from the other side of the walls.

"Come in!"

I push on the wood, and it swings with ease to reveal Kenny sprawled on an unmade bed; tapping his foot absently to the music as he intently studies the Playboy dangling from his fingers. His room is even messier than ours, and I momentarily wonder whether a bomb had been dropped. He looks up, watching me as I survey the disarray, considering if it was worth entering the room and risking injury.

"Hey man, what's up?"

"I was looking for Craig," I reply, scouring the room for any signs of its other occupant. There is a vague possibility he could have been caught in some kind of laundry avalanche, and is stuck beneath one of the mountains of clothes, but I wouldn't bet on it. "Do you know where he is?"

"Why him? Do you need help with some super-secret dude-on-dude stuff?" Kenny chuckles to himself, tearing his eyes away from his dog-eared magazine. "I wouldn't bother trying to find him; he's with Tweek - that blonde kid – so he's probably busy right now. I wouldn't count on him coming back any time soon. What did you need?"

"Oh no, it's fine," I dismiss his concerned tone with a wave of my hand. "It wasn't too important."

"Cartman isn't giving you trouble is he?"

"No, I can deal with him…" I turn to leave him be, when a thought hits me. "Actually, something he said a few days ago has been bugging me. You're both here on a scholarship, right? Do you know if he's ever gotten in trouble with the law? He said that he had partial funding from a young offenders rehabilitation scheme. I'm not sure what to think."

"He seriously told you that?" Kenny snorts, an amused grin tugging on his lips. "Don't listen to him, he's totally bullshitting. I'd tell you what it's really for but I'm afraid he'd shoot me if I did. Look, just ask him if you really want to know, he'll probably give in eventually…" He looks around him, as if ensuring the coast was clear. "Don't_ ever_ tell him I told you this, but he's not as awful as he seems. He's afraid of his weaknesses, so he hides his vulnerabilities behind a façade of spite. He might play the hateful tough guy but once he gets to know you he won't be that bad, trust me on this one."

"Yeah right, he'd have my liver on a platter if he could."

* * *

><p><em>Thud. Thud. Thud.<em>

The stocky brunette lies on his back, legs dangling over the side of his mattress as he hums an unfamiliar tune under his breath. He catches a small red ball in his right fist, launching it upwards again so it collides with the ceiling.

_Thud_.

"Will you cut that out!?" I snap, tempted to throw my book at him. "I'm trying to read."

"Why are you even reading that crap? Surely you could find something better to do."

"Like what? Throwing a ball at the ceiling?"

"The fact it irritates you makes it worth every second," Cartman replies gladly. "I don't get why you'd want to read that hippie rubbish. Romance novels are for chicks."

"It's a literary masterpiece!" I cry, dumbfounded at his stupidity. "You haven't even read it. Ever since our English lit teacher handed them out I haven't even seen you touch your copy once. If you don't read it you can't even do the coursework."

"Whatever, Romeo and Juliet is for fags anyway."

"How could you say that? You're the one with an underwear catalogue in his drawer. Like, half of your sketches are of naked guys."

"Hey," he groans. "That's what you're supposed to do. It's symbolic! I'm not very good at drawing clothes and nudes are supposed to be all _artistic_ and shit."

"_Sure," _I reply, voice patronisingly sarcastic. "Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day."

"Douchebag hypocrite," he growls, shooting me an angry look before tossing his ball in my direction. "I'm going to have a shower."

I lie back on my pillows and trace the intricate patterns on the ceiling with my eyes. My eyelids eventually become heavy, and I unwittingly melt into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>I open my eyes to a dark room, feeling disorientated and drowsy. I'm confused for a moment, but I begin to scold myself when I realized I must have fallen asleep.<p>

"Kyle?" Queries a distant voice, surprisingly free of cruelty. "Are you awake yet?"

I close my eyes tightly in defiance; I'm not ready to deal with this asshole again. He takes my silence as confirmation that I'm asleep, and I hear movement from across the room – the banging on wooden surfaces, the movement of boxes and the popping open of clasps. I'm intrigued greatly by these sounds, but I don't dare to open my eyes and watch. Is he going to draw on my face? Take disturbing pictured in my sleep? In my quick fumble through his drawers in search of socks I had come across a cheap album book of blackmail material, filled with compromising images of the innocent Butters in his sleep (amongst others). Does he have similar ambitions for me? Will he lather me with makeup or draw penises on my face? The thought causes an involuntary shudder. Surely not.

I anticipate the wet tip of a permanent marker or bristles of a makeup brush, but my suspicions are dispelled when I hear the gentle reverberation of guitar strings.

He plucks each string individually at first, allowing it to ring throughout the room before adjusting it slightly, turning the keys and distorting the pitch of the note until it reaches his desired tuning. He adjusts each note one at a time, correcting the guitars tuning from memory. He strums lightly, alternating between several chords whilst trying to keep the volume low, apparently afraid to wake me. I don't recognise the gentle tune, but I'm barely able to identify that his song is in a minor key. My musical knowledge is unfortunately limited to a few months of piano lessons when I was twelve, so once he begins to tunefully pluck at the strings I'm taken aback by the complexity of his odd melody. The halcyon nature of the beautiful composition seems like such a stark contrast to his character, contradictory to his malicious disposition. His tune is so sweet, and it resonates as if it was the embodiment of his own soul, his own emotion. I consider readjusting my position to watch him, but this thought is stopped in its tracks as he opens his lips and begins to sing.

His dulcet voice shocks me, causing the hairs on the back of my arms to stand on end. If the guitar was tuneful, his tender voice is a thousand times more so. His exquisite melody dances through the room as if it had a life of its own, raw with emotion and passion so rousing that it seems almost palpable in the air. I'm so absorbed by this divine song that I barely notice his words, yet his tune itself conveys such feeling that it tells a story of its own. All of his joy, all of his spirit is directed into his song, sharing the emotions I'd assumed that he couldn't even grasp, yet alone convey so compellingly.

It's so cruel, really, that such a devil could possess the beguiling voice of an angel. The bittersweet irony brings a distant smile to my lips, as his soothing melody brings me closer to the brink of unconsciousness. I slip into a gentle slumber, yet his lullaby continues to ring in my ears, even in the realm of sleep.

That night I dream. I dream of ethereal angels wearing masks of poignant black, their delicate feathers stained by viscous tar.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N: Thank you so much for reading as always, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I was never a big Creek fan, but starting to write it into the story I've found that the ship is growing on me. I loved writing Craig being defensive of Tweek, it's so adorable. I have a NSFW warning for either the next chapter or the one after it, so It's not long now until things start to pick up a bit in terms of slash, finally.<strong>

**Lots of love for all of the wonderful people that review and follow, all of my readers are a big source of inspiration - especially when I'm under the weather. Have an awesome day, everyone.**

**- NocturnalLament**


	8. Games (NSFW)

**A.N: whoa, okay. Major NSFW warning ahead! This chapter is relatively short compared to the last one but I find smut quite draining to write. It had to happen eventually, but now the smut-train is in full swing. This chapter is mostly just shameless filth, so if that isn't your thing than you can just ****_'pass the blunt to the nigga on your left'. _****The events in this chapter will have quite serious ramifications for our poor Kyle in the future, but if this isn't the type of thing that floats your boat the story still will make total sense if you don't read it.**

**I have to admit, I'm a bit worried about this chapter, so let me know if it works or not. I hope you enjoy, and have an awesome day.**

* * *

><p>From a coincidental event, an unlikely routine had been born – each night I would retreat to our room shortly before my roommate did, feigning sleep on his arrival. Ever since that night five days ago, I had eagerly waited to hear his bewitching melodies, listening closely as he would unknowingly indulge me. I'd never had much musical ability, but hearing the sincerity and elegance of his voice seemed to cause strange emotions to swell in my chest. His tunes filled me with an odd sense of contentment, a joy that I had been deprived of since everything had started to go wrong all those months ago.<p>

I secretly feel somewhat thankful toward him, as his delicate tunes gave me a sense of security like nothing else, completely eradicating the nightmares that had plagued my mind since _the incident._ Images of the blue-hatted boy had been exchanged for soothing clouds and choirs of angels; a continuation of his heavenly song. I craved this moment, and the strange unspoken connection that always seemed to occur despite the disguise of sleep. My body was still, my eyes were closed, but each note seemed to communicate directly with my soul.

I expected this night to be like the others, a private little concert for my secret enjoyment. The evening was long gone, and with it left the bustle of lively students and the excitement of after-dinner conversations. The full moon hung high above the horizon, illuminating the countryside with its ethereal glow. The dorm room was surprisingly light, with the large face of the moon casting shimmering streams of crepuscular light through the uncovered window. The room was highlighted in shades of silver, and from my concealed glances I could clearly decipher Cartman's lethargic form reclined on his bed, his body paled by the eerie glow of night. He hummed a familiar tune under his breath, a sweet song that I couldn't quite place. I briefly considered giving upon the whole idea and trying to focus on sleep, but he suddenly shifted his weight and pulled himself upright, and I was intrigued by his restlessness. I heard the movement and I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting to indicate my consciousness as I hear his approaching footsteps. I felt a hand on my shoulder then, gentle fingers clutching the clothed flesh before tightening his grip, shaking me slightly to try and rouse me from my sleep. His hands felt quite large compared to my meagre frame, and the surprising warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of my nightshirt caused my heart to lurch in my chest inexplicably. It had been so long since I had been touched so purposefully, with such an unanticipated respect. His uncharacteristic gentleness was somewhat unnerving, by my body's odd reaction to the inconsequential gesture was even more baffling in itself.

He called my name quietly, but after I failed to respond he sighed in relief. I expected him to retrieve his guitar as usual, but instead I felt reluctant fingers brush lightly across my temple, their touch so gentle that they seemingly ghost across my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, breath hitching in response to the sudden contact. His fingers tugged lightly on a wayward lock of hair, toying momentarily with the flaming curl before tucking it behind my ear almost tenderly.

As suddenly as the contact began, he'd retreated. A million questions raced through my mind, completely dumbfounded by his strange actions and unclear motives.

His bedframe shifted audibly as he laid down, lounging once again on his sloppily arranged blankets. I hear the rustle of fabric, succeeded by the quiet thud of material hitting the floor. Most of the time, I would fall asleep before he did – Cartman had always come up after me when it came to the evenings. Recently, his sweet melodies had lulled me into blissful sleep before I even had the chance to hear him finish his tunes, but I'd barely even notice as I'd fade into unconsciousness. However, each morning, I'd awoken to see his dishevelled chestnut hair and his crumpled clothes, dressed in a faded Rammstein band shirt and an old pair of khaki boxer shorts. He seemed to have bypassed his usual attire tonight for some reason, with his makeshift pyjamas left draped over the side of our dresser. I warily open my eyes, discreetly glancing in his direction. My breath catches in my throat and my face heats suddenly, blood rushing to my cheeks at the sight.

He lies on his back, slightly propped up by several pillows and his head against the headboard, silently watching the ceiling. His shirt has been discarded on the floor, and his torso is completely bare. In my attempts to respect his modesty (such a concept was ridiculous when it came to this man, but it was the principle of the thing) I had very few chances to see him unclothed, which – judging by the way my cock stirred in my shorts – seemed to have been the preferable option to avoid unwanted thoughts.

Fully clothed, it is easy to attribute all of his bulk to fat, but once exposed there was clear muscle definition in his broad chest. The muscle was taught under the skin of his strong arms, and his thick torso would rise and fall steadily with the rhythm of his slow breathing. He's not exactly Hercules, but his surprisingly toned physique was shamefully enticing – appealing directly to my tastes. His stocky shoulders were broad and incredibly masculine, almost an imitation of those in my own late-night fantasies. Damn, how the mere sight of them stirred something dreadful deep inside of me! I drew my tongue across my dry lips subconsciously, willing to dig my fingernails into the ample flesh, to savour the feeling of them meaty and powerful beneath my hands. I can't help but envision it then, despite my better judgement. The thought of those hefty muscles clenching with his every movement, rippling as he grinds against me, flooded my mind without warning. The images set my face on fire, but I couldn't bring myself to will them away. In the time since Stan left me, I'd been left to my own devices… and I'd been so wrapped in sorrow and self-pity that I'd barely even indulged my body's needs. His trousers were slightly askew, drooping slightly to reveal a tantalising teaser of the creamy skin underneath his waistband. I only just began to realise how long it had been when I was driven crazy merely by the small slither of skin visible on his hip. God, how I wanted to touch the supple flesh, to slide my hands below the confines of his waistband.

He lifted his fingers, absently trailing his digits across his chest in a delicate pattern. The hand lingered momentarily, somewhat indecisive, before dipping down to his navel and following the sparse trail of hairs down to the fabric of his trousers. I contemplated turning away - unsure whether he intended to undress – but his hand stopped at his zipper, popping open the button before slowly dragging down the zip, almost as is to tease me with the prospect of what lies beyond his unfastened fly.

I lay transfixed by his movements, as he wiggled slightly so that his trousers fell down to reveal his elasticated trunks. I'm rendered speechless, unable to tear my eyes away from his wayward hand as it dipped down to the enticing bulge of his crotch, roughly caressing himself over his underwear. The thin fabric was tented slightly, stretching over the prominent form of his hardening cock. His breath shuddered quietly at the stimulation, but in the dead silence of the room the sound rang loud and clear as he palmed at himself, unintentionally drawing my eye.

After squeezing himself half-heartedly for several minutes, allowing himself to harden further, his hand dipped into the inviting material, lifting his hips slightly to tug them down far enough to fully reveal himself.

_Fuck. _His solid length sprung from the confines of the fabric, thick and exposed in the bitter air. His size was so much larger than I'd envisioned, its respectable length overshadowed by his impressive girth, veins prominent and skin sweat-slicked in his palm. He stroked himself gingerly at first, adjusting to the sensations before increasing his pace, kneading the rigid flesh from base to tip.

He held himself skilfully, one hand massaging the base while the other ran along the length with leisurely strokes. He almost seemed to be presenting himself, rubbing his hands over his sizeable cock with the practiced ease of a porn star. It's not usually a good thing to compare someone to, but in this situation it almost feels like a complement.

I hadn't realized I'd been biting the insides of my cheeks until blood washed over my tongue, the hot saline liquid oozing from ruptured capillaries. My self-control began to waiver, and before I could decide otherwise my hand was in my pyjamas, desperate to quell the vicious hunger of my own '_growing problem'_. The flesh was already completely rigid, straining desperately against the plaid fabric of my trousers. After neglecting my own needs for so long, the erotic sight was more than enough to drive me crazy. I was tempted to just let loose, but any vigorous movements would probably have caught his attention.

A wave of relief hit me as I'd wrapped my hands around by hardness, pulsing against my fingers as I rub myself earnestly. At first, my pace was torturously slow, my cock swelling in the heat of my hand with each movement, but I was unable to fully restrain myself as I increased my speed, revelling in the sensation of my own grip.

I freeze when I hear a gasp, and I dread for a moment that I'd been spotted. I bit my lip violently, startled until Cartman lets out another low, shivery moan, clear that it was just a sound of pleasure. I kept my teeth buried to prevent myself from answering with a sigh of my own, instead trying to focus on the movements of his hand. The rusty taste seemed to amplify the pleasure, the raw taste of my own blood painfully fitting with the crude, animalistic nature the whole situation.

His sounds were static in the air, live and electric between us, sending subtle shocks across my skin. Each heavy breath stirred something deep and primal, something powerful and riveting that had lain dormant within me for much too long. I watched him intently, entranced by his movements as a bead of moisture formed at his head, sliding tantalizingly across his rigid, burning skin. The precome begins to slick up his shaft, acting as a natural lubricant that helps as he speeds his motions further. I felt compelled to lick up the fluid, to savour his natural musk as I slicken up his fat cock with my saliva. I imagined him sliding deep inside of me, rubbing me deliciously raw in all the right places. It'd been so long since I'd been truly fucked, and if the circumstances were and different I'd probably try to imitate it with my fingers, desperate for a taste of that incomparable pleasure. Instead, I settled for my grip. Stan had been a reasonable size, but _Cartman… _God, the thought of that huge girth stretching me out, filling me up so fully, sends tremors across my skin.

Pleasure jolts through my spine as Cartman moans loudly, voice lewd and desperate. His wanton vocalizations were so unbearably sexy, and as he begins to gasp more frequently as his hand speeds up to a blur. He lifted his hips in rapture, fucking his hand as he moaned frantically. I sped my hand also, imagining him fucking me deeper, faster with his hot cock, wishing to feel his hands on my neglected body. I can tell from his sounds he was on the verge of coming, and the thought of his orgasm sent electricity pulsing through every nerve in my body. A familiar heat began to build within the pit of my stomach, and before long my free hand flew to my mouth. I bit hard on my knuckles, trying to prevent myself from crying out in rapture as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

I heard a loud groan as Cartman hit his release, and the erotic sound pushed me over the edge as I clenched down with my jaw. I came hard, hot and messy into the palm of my hand, shivering violently as the powerful orgasm sent aftershocks throughout my body.

I lay for several moments, completely spent as I waited for my breathing patterns to return to normal. Unfortunately, with the afterglow came the burdens of common sense and reasoning, and I began to feel sick to my stomach. _What had I just DONE? _I felt like some kind of voyeur, and despite how hot it had been at the time, I can't help but wonder how Cartman would've felt about it all. I raised my other hand, disgusted by the drying substance on my palm - evidence of my misdeeds.

I'd been so absorbed it self-disgust that I'd completely lost track of everything else, but I was bought back down to earth as a box of tissues landed on my duvet.

What? Why would he throw them this far? I paled as I began to realize he'd handed them to me intentionally.

He couldn't have, surely. There was no way he would've noticed me…. I grabbed a tissue reluctantly, being certain not to make a sound to rouse Cartman's suspicions. It was seemingly a lost cause however, as he addressed me without an ounce of concern in his voice. My stomach seems to drop, as I realize the implications of what this means. _Oh God no._

"Goodnight, Jewboy." He smirks, knowing full well he'd won his little game. "Sleep well."

Unfortunately for Kyle, however, the games were just beginning.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N: I hope I didn't go overboard there... <strong>

**That should be your fair share of filth for now, because things are only just starting to get weird for Kyle. I'm sorry if anyone was hoping for more Creek, but we'll be hearing from them again very soon.**

**Thank you so much for reading, and I hope this came out okay. The stuff I usually write gets a bit filthier than this (oh the shame!) so I've never actually written a masturbation scene before. If you don't care much for it than don't worry, we're back to tastefulness and storyline next chapter.**

**A huge shoutout to everyone that has reviewed so far, you are all so supremely awesome that I have no idea how to thank you all. Reading your opinions literally makes my day, as I am indeed that pathetic. **

**Lots of love and sunshine (and random penises),**

**- NocturnalLament**


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